


Timing

by die_Frau



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Post-Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_Frau/pseuds/die_Frau
Summary: This one's been rolling around in my head for a while. It's a one-shot for now. Strike and Robin finally have a bit of a confessional at (where else) the Tottenham.I wrote this all in one sitting, so please feel free to point out any glaring errors. Not beta-read by anyone.7/20/20 updated with some help from @ZoeSong. 💓





	Timing

After a long, busy week, Robin and Cormoran found themselves celebrating with drinks, which had become a usual Friday occurrence. Usually, Robin would be making Strike chuckle with her observations of various clients, but this evening she seemed lost in her thoughts. As she sipped her wine, her gaze way beyond the Tottenham, Strike waited patiently, using his investigative skills to simply allow her to fill the silence once she felt ready, content to drink his beer and surreptitiously look at her, marveling at her quiet beauty. This was also a skill he’d honed over their time together. However, her first utterance surprised even him.

“Did I ever tell you about my honeymoon?”

Strike winced. He tried never to think about Robin and Matthew in any way, much less what they might have done in the Maldives, post-wedding. Robin saw his grimace and laughed shortly.

“God, nothing like that. I slept in the bedroom; he slept on the sofa. It probably rates as one of the least romantic honeymoons in history.” She took another sip of wine, gathering herself. Strike relaxed slightly, secretly feeling better that he wasn’t the only one who’d been unhappy, although he never liked the thought of Robin in any kind of pain. Still, he said nothing. Robin took a deep breath, placing her wine on the table. She looked into Strike’s eyes.

“I spent that week doing a lot of thinking...mostly about you.” Strike’s mouth dropped slightly open, and she went on. “Seeing you there after everything that happened, realizing Matthew had deleted your messages and blocked you from my phone, that hug on the stairs…” She looked down, took another deep breath and let it out, gathering her courage to look at Strike again. “I wanted so badly for you ask me to come away with you.” His dark eyes widened.

“I wanted to ask you,” he replied hoarsely.

Her jaw mirrored his from a minute before as she let out a soft gasp. “Why didn’t you?” she asked softly.

“I knew I couldn’t take it back, that I would’ve changed everything, and I couldn’t do that to you. Not on your wedding day. Not even to him.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, both remembering how it felt to hold each other on those stairs a lifetime ago, both wondering what might have been if they had done what they wanted instead of what was right and proper. Robin let out a gusty sigh.

“Well, going back to my honeymoon, I found myself thinking about you and after a week, I finally broke down and called you. And some woman answered your phone. You were obviously...together,” she said, her voice laced with a combination of embarrassment, anger, and disappointment, “So I figured that obviously you weren’t sitting at home wondering about me, that that moment on the stairs must not have meant as much to you….” Robin found herself staring down at the scarred tabletop again.

Strike said nothing now because he simply couldn’t, silently cursing the perfect storm of impeccably bad timing that had brought this about. Robin went on relentlessly, determined to get it all out (_All on the table_, she thought wryly to herself, looking at the water spots on the table).

“But I still wanted to end it. And I went back to our room to do just that, and then Matt got that infection from the coral, and we talked it out...and I decided to try.” She looked once again at Strike, waiting to see how he’d react, daring to hope that the change she’d felt between them recently meant what she’d hoped over two years ago on a beach in the Maldives. Strike sat silent for a moment and then sighed and shook his head in disbelief.

“I drank myself into a stupor for two days thinking you’d broken things off. I wanted to give you space...but I wanted to talk to you so badly, make sure you were all right. And when I spoke to your dad and found out you’d gone on your honeymoon with that twat after all, _I_ figured I'd been fooling myself and I kept drinking. And then Wardle asked me to dinner and set me up with his wife’s friend…” He had the good grace to look abashed. “It wasn’t my finest hour,” he muttered. 

Robin, having grown up with three brothers, knew something of the way the male mind worked. While she didn’t excuse Strike’s behavior, she understood it, to some extent. Suddenly, she laughed. Strike looked at her quizzically.

“God, we have brilliant timing, don’t we? We could’ve been a real-life version of  _ Sliding Doors _ if we’d made different choices.”

“But if I remember, that alternate reality didn’t work out so well,” Strike pointed out, nearly sweating with relief that his admission hadn’t sent Robin storming out of the pub in disgust. Robin put her head to one side, considering.

“Fair point. Besides,” she said quietly, “I think maybe we needed to go through everything else to get to this point.”

“What point’s that?” Strike asked, hope in his voice. 

Robin took his hand and squeezed it, a softness shining in her eyes that he’d never seen before.

“The point where we finally start admitting what we’ve both been afraid to until now. Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time?”

At that exact moment, a young man in his 20s suddenly lurched his way over to the table, stared at Strike, and burst out, “Hey! Shacklewell Ripper, innit?”

“Fuck. Off,” growled Strike. Robin rolled her eyes and hid a laugh. The young man looked insulted that his adoration had been so rudely rebuffed.

“Hey, ‘m just--”

“He said, 'Fuck. Off',” interrupted Robin. Strike’s deep scowl flipped to an admiring smile as he looked her, her face cool and her tone unmistakable. “So, off you go,” and she shooed him away like a wayward puppy. He skulked off, more afraid of the blonde than the huge man opposite her. She turned back to Strike. “We really _do_ have bad timing."

“Let’s put an end to that right now,” he replied, and stood up as he threw a few notes onto the table, shrugging into his coat. He helped Robin into hers, allowing his hands to envelop her in a quick hug from behind as he pulled the sides of her coat together. She briefly put her hands over his, and they walked together out of the pub.


End file.
